


it's hard to wake up in the morning

by maddielle



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Anxiety, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27596698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maddielle/pseuds/maddielle
Summary: It's a Monday, and Nicky feels small.In which Joe knows exactly what to do on days like this.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 22
Kudos: 245





	it's hard to wake up in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> Title from New Religion - The Heydaze

It’s a Monday, and Nicky feels small.

He’s seen the evolution of mental health care and awareness over literal centuries. He’s seen people resort to a shockingly wide range of remedies for ailments that psychologists and doctors can now look up in a big book without much alarm. The internet is a never-ending well of knowledge on every kind of struggle, and the rise of talk therapy is a marvel to him, still.

He knows that his mind must be different from the mortals around him. The same goes for his family. They’ve experienced things in an abundance that most could only try to imagine handling, seen all the horrors and victories, carried those burdens. It’s a thankless task. Logically, something has to leave a mark, and Nicky, like with everything else, has always tried to be prepared. He’s read a lot about psychology and psychiatry, and even visited a therapist or two in his lifetime. Always only once, and while omitting a great amount of detail about his life, but he felt a little lighter for it each time.

So, on a dim February morning in Edinburgh, a week after a three-month long job successfully concluded and they’ve all elected to take a few weeks of downtime, he thinks he knows what’s happening.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t mean he can escape it.

He’s alone in bed when he wakes. Not unusual, but the empty space behind him feels especially hollow. He’s pulled the duvet up to his nose in his sleep against the chill. He thinks he slept soundly, but his neck aches, and his eyes are so heavy when he peers out. Drawn blinds keep most of the morning light at bay, but it still feels like a lot to look at.

His mind vibrates.

 _Pay attention_ , it says. _Something’s wrong._

There’s nothing wrong.

_It’s going to happen._

Nicky screws his eyes shut. Anxiety like this always manifests in distant nausea. He longs for the focus of a job, but they’re supposed to be relaxing and enjoying the city. He doesn’t want to waste this peaceful time with Joe and the others. Despite this, like a macabre picture show, his mind’s eye flips through all the close calls of the last few months at random. All the ways he could have been too slow here, not smart enough there. All the ways he’s let the team down.

Immortal as they all are, they’re still only human. Mistakes happen and must be confronted.

Nicky’s not very good at confronting his own.

His palms are feeling damp, curled in front of his chest, when the bedroom door whines open. He hears Joe pad inside, smells a hint of strong coffee. When Joe rounds the side of the bed and places a cup near Nicky’s head on the bedside table, gentle contentedness flows from him. He notices Nicky’s barely opened eyes and smiles, sitting on the edge of the mattress, his own mug cradled in two hands.

“You don’t usually sleep in this long,” he says softly. The small of his back is warm against Nicky’s thighs.

“Been awake for a bit,” Nicky replies, voice hidden under the duvet.

“Tired?”

A half shrug.

Joe’s expression shifts ever so slightly. He talks a sip of his coffee and frees one hand to rest on Nicky’s covered shoulder.

“You seem off, love,” he murmurs, and Nicky is so, so grateful that he didn’t ask, _what’s wrong? What’s bothering you?_ Answering questions seems an insurmountable task.

“I’m-” Nicky starts. He chews on the inside of his mouth. “I am.”

“Are you in pain?” Always pragmatic, to start.

Nicky closes his eyes. “No.”

“Okay.” Joe finishes his coffee, sets the mug down beside Nicky’s untouched drink, shifts a little closer. “We have the house to ourselves, today. The others have gone out.” He leans one hand on the bed behind Nicky.

“Sight-seeing?”

Joe hums. “Nile wanted to hike Arthur’s Seat.” With the hand he isn’t leaning on, he pushes careful fingers through Nicky’s hair. The heat and weight of his hand is like a balm against the tide of Nicky’s thoughts, and the touch of relief has Nicky’s throat tightening involuntarily.

Joe strokes his head a few more times before straightening.

“Give me five minutes,” he says. Nicky nods, eyes still closed.

Joe leaves the room and returns after a moment. He makes light sounds as he fusses around. Soon, muted music is playing; he’s apparently stolen Nile’s wireless speaker. The mattress then dips behind Nicky. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he finally moves, twisting around under the covers to see what’s going on.

In a slouched hat and sweater of Nicky’s, a little broad in the shoulders, Joe is comfortably leaned back against the headboard and pillows, laptop across his thighs. Nicky has no idea what music is playing, but it’s gentle and makes him think of snoozing on a long train trip. Instinctively, he shuffles forwards until he can knock his forehead against Joe’s shoulder and view the laptop screen. There’s a text document pulled up.

“What are you working on?”

“Some translations,” Joe answers, voice rumbling. “Poetry and the like.”

“Going well?”

“Slowly,” Joe says ruefully. With the swipe of a finger, he closes the document. “I thought some TV might suit a day in bed.”

While an episode of a baking show loads, he settles in and lifts an arm. Nicky slots himself into the free space, ear to Joe’s chest. Joe’s hand lands on the dip of Nicky’s waist.

He presses his lips to Nicky’s forehead. “Comfy?”

“Mm.” He doesn’t feel that okay, yet. He knows he won’t for a while, but at least he now has Joe’s heartbeat to follow.

Nicky doesn’t pay much attention to the show once it starts. Exhaustion still weighs his eyelids down, and Joe’s always been more invested in this season, anyway. Instead, he tries to concentrate on his senses. It’s a technique that’s helped before. With intention, he listens to the music Joe has picked, feels the fibers of the sweater under his cheek, takes in the light masculine scent of detergent and clean skin that makes up _Joe_ , and, impossibly, little by little, the knot clenched in Nicky’s stomach gradually releases.

Towards the end of an episode, his own heartbeat isn’t so heavy anymore.

“Susan’s going to lose,” Joe mutters absently. “Look at that frosting job. Disaster.”

Nicky blinks, and his eyes are wet.

As the episode carries on, he stays quiet, his vision blurring more and more, until a warm tear escapes and drips onto Joe’s collarbone. Joe takes a slow breath and tightens his grip on Nicky’s waist. He doesn’t pause the show.

“It’s alright,” he says, soft. “We're alright, Nico.”

“I know,” Nicky says thinly. “I’ll be okay.”

Joe shushes him gently, tips his chin down so the words are said right against Nicky’s forehead. “You don’t need to be. You can feel sad for a while, love. I have you.”

Inside Nicky, something gives a little.

He doesn’t end up properly crying, not really. While the baking show continues and Susan inevitably gets eliminated, he lets his eyes water freely. He lets his breath shudder a bit, lets his fingers clutch at the sweater Joe wears. Whenever he blinks, more tears are dislodged and run across his face, and the building sense of relief becomes dizzying. Joe holds him throughout.

Calm settles over him, eventually. Nicky dozes, falling in and out of awareness, not really interested in staying awake. He drifts for long enough that he eventually opens his eyes and the room is dark except for the laptop and lamplight from beside the bed.

A fog has lifted, and he feels ready to sit up. Joe lets Nicky go when he shifts upright and rubs his face with two hands. “What time is it?” he asks his palms.

“About five. Are you hungry?”

Nicky nods, and turns to look back at Joe. Rumpled and sleepy in the way that comes from spending a day in bed, he’s beautiful. Nicky tangles a hand with his on top of the bedclothes.

“Thank you,” Nicky says, earnest, voice rough.

Joe’s face crumples into a fond smile. With a small grunt, he too sits up, and takes Nicky’s face into his palms. The kiss they share lingers for a long, long moment, and Nicky has to dip in for another once that first ends, which makes Joe chuckle.

“It’s no chore,” Joe says, after. “Do you feel better?”

“I think so.”

“Then I am glad.” His thumbs stroke under Nicky’s eyes. “I’ll heat up some leftovers. Come when you’re ready.”

He leaves the room, and Nicky immediately wants to follow, but he takes a moment, first. He puts a hand to his belly, chest, rubs at the base of his skull. He blinks the stickiness from his eyes and feels the echo of Joe’s lips on his.

Finally, he cracks a small smile, and pushes out of bed.

**Author's Note:**

> written to escape a little seasonal sadness today; writing these two always helps


End file.
